THE LIFE OF A BEE 



from the flowers the pollen and honey that unfailingly 

 come with the spring. 



Even as I even as a hundred thousand generations 

 before me will they marvel at the mysteries that sur- 

 round them, but, undaunted and undismayed, they 

 will fly into the face of the sun or struggle in the teeth 

 of the hurricane! It is youth that knows no danger, 

 that brooks no defeat, that pursues, that conquers. It 

 is youth that constructs, that hopes, that achieves 

 youth that charges the heavens with glory! 



Crip was right. Now age has torn my wings and 

 rendered my body nearly useless. While I am still 

 alive, I am among the dying but, dying, I shall live 

 again. 



February has come and already the grass is green 

 and the yellow catclaw-buds are bursting. The great 

 tree that stands hard by is a-bloom. The alarm has 

 been sounded, and out into the world the bees fly by 

 tens and hundreds. I, too, cannot resist the call and 

 rise into the air, driving toward a place I well remem- 

 ber. Sheltered from the north wind and exposed to 

 the sun, a little slope lies dotted with daisies. In its 

 midst a catclaw-tree sways like a golden ball in the 

 breeze, and about it hum a score of bees. I, too, 

 gather my load and wend my way homeward, but at 

 heart I am weary. I had imagined that I alone knew 

 of this particular spot. Alas! there are no secrets. 



Flying out again, I took another course one which 

 led me over the Master's cottage. There he was in his 

 garden, pondering his roses. Round him I circled twice, 

 thrice, until, perceiving me, he followed me with his 

 eyes until I passed from his vision. 



119 



